walked in silence, turning from the main road, passing the Central Station and plunging into a labyrinth of streets which was foreign territory to the American.
It seemed that he had passed in one step from one of the best-class quarters of the town to one of the worst. One minute he was passing through a sedate square, lined with the houses of the well-to-do, another minute he was in a slum.
"The place is at the end of this street," she said.
They came to what seemed to be a stable-yard. There was a blank wall with one door and a pair of gates. The girl took a key from her bag, opened the small door and stepped in, and Beale followed.
They were in a yard littered with casks. On two sides of the yard ran low-roofed buildings which had apparently been used as stables. She locked the door behind her, walked across the yard to the corner and opened another door.
"There are fourteen steps down," she said, "have you a light of any kind?"
He took his electric torch from his pocket.
"Give it to me," she said, "I will lead the way."
"What is this place?" he asked, after she had locked the door.
"It used to be a wine merchant's," she said shortly, "we have the cellars."
"We?" he repeated.
She made no reply. At the bottom of the steps was a short passage and another door which was opened, and apparently the same key fitted them all, or else as Beale suspected she carried a pass key.
They walked through, and again she closed the door behind them.
"Another?" he said, as her light flashed upon a steel door a dozen paces ahead.
"It is the last one," she said, and went on.
Suddenly the light was extinguished.
"Your lamp's gone wrong," he heard her say, "but I can find the lock."
He heard a click, but did not see the door open and did
